


don't lie to me

by naruhoe



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Restraints, Trev and Sypha get your asses back here, Vomiting, a lot of fucking angst what the fuck even was s3, you got some 'splaining to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23037310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naruhoe/pseuds/naruhoe
Summary: Unfinished
Comments: 15
Kudos: 149





	1. one

Taka has just slid out of him when it happens. Alucard is all but shaking, still taut and oversensitive in the wake of the explosive orgasm that had ripped through him. The damp kisses laid upon his brow, his neck, his scarred chest- the lurid teeth that closed around his earlobe- the firm grip pinning his wrists above his head. It’s all too much. 

He feels like he’s drowning.

The pain is entirely unexpected.

Blisters rise immediately to meet the bands of silver that bite into his flesh, and the sound that escapes him is half gasp half visceral snarl. He hardly even notices the sudden withdrawal of two pairs of warm hands, golden eyes snapping open as he tenses so hard he damn near strains every tendon in his body.

It _hurts_.

But when he reaches for his power, it breaks apart in his fingertips. It _resists_ him, rearing back against the foreign touch of burning silver against his flesh, and it’s with panic that Alucard realizes he’s well and truly trapped. Straining against the cables does nothing. Less than nothing, save to send another spike of adrenaline rushing into his bloodstream.

Taka and Sumi are still sitting on either side of him when he looks up, regarding him with identical cool stares just like the identical daggers they’re holding. A matched set.

There’s something else in their eyes when he looks at them, something hot and sullen that jangles painfully against Alucard’s nerves-- horridly exposed and unspeakably _vulnerable_ , just like the rest of him right now.

“What’s happening?”

***

He turns his face away, in the end. The impulse had been too strong, and for once, he’d allowed himself to listen to it. Coward that he is, he couldn’t bring himself to watch. Fool that he is, he hadn’t seen it coming.

How could he _not_ have seen it??

The probing questions about the castle’s mechanisms. About the gears, and his father, and a thousand other little things that don’t matter now because blood is slowly seeping into the mattress and Alucard knows the stains will never come out.

Alucard knows he will never sleep in this room again.

He cuts himself free of the silver cables, opening a long scratch on the back of one shoulder that he does not feel as he stumbles out of bed, casts one look up at the arc of blood spattered across the curtains, and is quietly, violently sick for the next two and a half minutes. 

Alucard breaks the fixture in the wall when he wrenches the curtains down, but he doesn’t notice that either, practically tripping over his own feet as he stumbles from the room, dragging the ruined curtains behind him. There’s only one place to go, really.

***

He can’t stand the sight of his own nakedness, but he leaves the curtains in the hallway once he realizes he’s been dragging them along with him. He has to physically force the muscles of his hand to stop contracting before he can leave the bloody things in a heap against the ruined sideboard of the hall.

His feet are on autopilot, determined though it seems he should have collapsed some time ago. Distantly, he realizes that he is naked and cold and burning where the silver touched him, but none of that seems to matter. None of it seems _real_.

By the time he realizes where he is, he’s already standing over the livid scorch mark permanently burnt into the floor of his old bedroom. And in the center of it, the gleam of metal in the moonlight. Alucard leaves the ring where it lies, but the ghosts follow him, whispering, as he turns on his heel, and still quite naked, walks back the way he came.

There’s only one place to go, really.

***

The sound of the lift creaking seems louder than usual in his ears. The ride seems to take forever. He stumbles off at the bottom of the endless spiraling pit, almost blinded by the ray of moonlight reflecting off of the bottom. It’s when he raises one hand to the knob of the newly-installed door there at the bottom, however, that he notices the blisters for the first time.

They’re bright pink welts against his pale skin, slightly risen from the rest of the skin around his wrists. They continue in a criss-crossing pattern up his arms, where the marks are blurred and imperfect as a result of his straining against the cables.

Alucard stares. Turns the knob. Shuts the door behind him, as if that’ll do anything if another pack of night creatures decides to batter it down again. As if it’ll keep out the ghosts.

The air of Belmont Hold smells faintly musty, like dust and old books. It’s especially strong after he reaches for his power and focusing inward, readjusts his center of gravity as he falls to all fours on newly-padded paws. It smells like dust, and mildew, and old books. It smells like sweat and salt and the bitterness of bile. Less perceptible is the faint scent of sword oil and sunkissed leather.

Voices echo. The ghosts are whispering again.

The golden-furred wolf breaks into a trot, and bounds off towards the staircase on huge silent paws. Its nails rasp against the grating of the staircase as it descends at breakneck speed, but all is silent once it reaches the lower level, even ground once again.

There’s rows and rows of books down there too, and amid them, several display cases haphazardly scattered around the walls. It smells of old books too, but the wolf makes for a particular corner next to a cracked mirror. There’s also a chest, empty and propped half-open, the shape of its occupant molded into the pillows.

It’s here that the wolf with the strange golden eyes curls up on the floor, the curve of its spine pressed against the base of the mirror, one paw resting on a book lying long-abandoned on the floor. It's here that those golden eyes are finally allowed to close. Alucard sleeps, breathing in the faded scent of the only two people he's ever felt _safe_ around.

Silence in the Belmont Hold.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alucard behaves like an actual adult and buries some fucking bodies instead of impaling two corpses on sticks.

Alucard buries them the next morning in two small, unmarked graves in the woods outside of Belmont Manor. He makes two trips up to the room. On the second trip, he shuts the door behind him and does not look back.

The bodies are wrapped in white sheets. _Spotless_ white. The thread count is so high that Alucard can hardly feel the weave beneath the pads of his fingers as he lowers two shroud-wrapped bodies down into the dark earth. (His father always did like his nice things.) 

The soil there is rich and dark. It smells of earth and decay, and it patters like a fine, dark rainfall against the sheets until no white can be seen and two gently-rounded mounds have established themselves there beneath the trees.

There’s soil under his nails later that evening, but he doesn’t notice it until he’s uncorked a bottle of wine and taken a swig. There will be no bothering with a glass today, no bothering with setting the table or hunting for ingredients for a meal. One meal takes less preparation than three, but there’s no point if he doesn’t feel like eating it, much less preparing it.

The dirt under his nails is itchy and dry, dark crescents under the waxy half moons of the filed-down talons of his nails. Alucard, leaning against the cellar wall, stares down at his hands. There’s dirt under his nails, and a blistered ring of angry red skin around his wrist. His heart contracts, and his chest swells with something that he might mistake for rage were it not so painful.

The sound of the bottle smashing against the opposite wall is cathartic. Reaching down, he wraps elegant fingers around the half-broken bottle near his feet. It smashes into a thousand pieces against the wall as the cork flies off somewhere into the corner of the room. The glass tinkles musically against the floor. 

Alucard reaches for another.

***

What he doesn’t smash against the wall, he drinks. _Why, Alucard, you’re becoming a regular Trevor._ Sighs a suspiciously familiar voice in his head as the third bottle, formerly intact, smashes against the wall, leaving behind a dark red smear. Of course, Alucard is far too drunk to care, much less try to interpret what hearing Sypha’s voice could possibly mean.

He won’t remember it tomorrow anyways.

***

Alucard wakes up on the floor of Belmont Hold for the second time in as many days, curled into the same spot as last time. Sypha Belnades’ scent, mixed with that of Trevor Belmont’s, hovers in the air there, the faint taunting ghost of their presence. 

He sits up with a groan and immediately drops his aching head into his hands. His very human hands, which means that he had lost control of the spell in his sleep.

 _Something must be done_ , he thinks.

Getting to his feet takes some doing. He’s shaky. Wobbling on his feet. And his head is pounding like the inside of a fucking drum. While he’d like to say that he makes it to the lift, in truth, he barely gets to the stairs before he has to sit down. Throbbing head. Dry tongue. So _this_ is what a hangover feels like. 

It’s only when the memories come rushing back that the nausea sets in. 

Alucard _does not_ become sick in the midst of the Belmont family’s centuries of infamous stored knowledge. He takes the lift back up and does it outside in the bushes. Like a civilized person. And then, the civilized person that he is, he traipses back to the castle to rinse the taste of bile from his mouth.

***

The castle is empty, and there are two chairs too many at the table. It smells like Sumi’s hair in the bathroom, and Taka’s bow is still hanging in the guest room, along with the rest of their clothing. They had taken advantage of him, tried to kill him, and he feels _guilt_. 

For defending himself. 

For the sounds they made when his sword stole the life from them. 

For the fear in the air as their struggling grew weaker, then stopped altogether. They had both smelled of fear, amid the iron tang of blood, a scent that sticks heavy in his nostrils even clear outside of the room that he still can’t force himself to enter. It’s been a week since he buried them, and Alucard has slept all of eight hours.

He is a fool. The worst kind of fool. A lonely fool. For even now, with the castle emptied of everything but his regret, he longs for a voice. A kind touch. 

He dreams of them some nights. Always, he wakes incandescent with rage but frozen by panic. He wakes with his heart in his throat and a cry on his lips. There are phantom hands in his hair, more circling his wrists. They render him helpless, immobile, and though he realizes that he can draw on the reserves of his power, the back of his throat closes up as if to choke him. 

Sometimes, he dreams of that they are out in the woods again, Sumi on his back with her strong legs around his waist as Taka trudges along behind them, complaining that he is hungry, asking why Alucard isn't carrying him instead. The bickering is familiar, comforting, even, 'till he wakes up drenched in sweat that he dreamed was blood.

Sometimes, he is even aroused. Those are the nights that he lies alone in the unforgiving dark, focusing on slowing his breathing until his chest hardly rises at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and then, like the responsible adult he is, he gets outrageously drunk because he is grieving and lonely. That's a healthy coping mechanism, right?

**Author's Note:**

> And here I was expecting season 3 to turn out better for our boy. Guess that shows how much I know. Also, have the only other thing I had written in my drafts for this work:
> 
> Alucard is  
> 1- perpetually Sad  
> (the receiver of all things bad and tragic in the CV series)  
> 2- a bisexual fuck  
> (we knew that already but it's CANON now guys wtf bisexual people EXIST??)  
> 3- a BOTTOM  
> (we also already knew that)
> 
> COMMENTS ENCOURAGED


End file.
